


When the Walls Fall

by I_See_The_Stars_15



Series: Secrets Kept Close, Feelings Pushed Away [8]
Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Broken Friendships, Gen, Internal Monologue, Lots of it, Post-Betrayal, Set in the Civil War, There Are No Winners in War, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26459203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_See_The_Stars_15/pseuds/I_See_The_Stars_15
Summary: Zedaph, harbinger of death, reflects on the war and what comes next.
Series: Secrets Kept Close, Feelings Pushed Away [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775941
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	When the Walls Fall

Stood on top of the pristine white tower miraculously untouched by it all, Zedaph pondered about what the outcome of this event shall mean for the rest of them. War has never been something he enjoyed thinking about, no matter how ridiculous or petty the reasons were. The others always took the word lightly, throwing it about as if the whispers were not seeds being sown into fertile soil, ready to be reaped into catastrophe. They didn’t know of war back then, didn’t know the actions they’ll have to take in the name of victory. Now, perhaps they did.

The grass beyond him was scorched black, and there are still remnants of embers burning amongst the weeds, signs that calamity had taken forth. The final battle, as he hoped it would be, was a terrifying sight from up above and he can only imagine what it would have been like should he have decided to join the fray. His hands shook when the siren sounded, and even if Python tried to convince him to stay in one of the lower floors with him, he could not leave his post. Even as the first blows landed, as the first of many messages heralding death vibrated in his pocket, he did not falter in his observations. 

“I have to stay,” he told Python when the man had once again tried to persuade him to hide. “I need to know what will happen next.”

“We can learn about what happened once it’s done,” the red creeper pleaded, desperately tugging on his arm. “It’s not safe here.”

A grim smile found itself situated on his face as he turned away to watch another fireball hit its target, the communicator in his pants going off to signify that the person was killed.

_iJevin was fireballed by Ghast._

“There is no such thing as safety during war, Python.”

Indeed there was none. His trembling as the past and the present collided in his mind confirmed that it was a lesson he has yet to forget, and perhaps never will. He watched as bodies exploded into a slew of items that continue to lay forgotten, and wondered if it would have been for the better if he were to forget.

Death was not something to be feared in this world, not like the world he came from. Respawn had made it so that what was once inevitable lost its charm, so that those who once cowered at the promise of darkness lost their worries. You would always have the ability to come back. 

Except, if there was one thing death had been able to keep in this world, it was the ability to change those who fell into its clutches, to mold those affected by the almost loss. That had become more evident with each day the war raged on, as businesses closed their doors on those considered enemies, as previously warm smiles were replaced with cold shoulders and wary gazes. Not everyone had participated in the battles. Five of them had abstained from the warfare for one reason or another, yet they were not exempted from the tense atmosphere that seeped out of the battlefield and into their everyday lives. They were always regarded with unsure hands and too loose hugs, as though at any moment they might have changed their minds and picked a side to support.

There were whispers of betrayal leading up to the final battle, of plans sabotaged from the inside and trust lost all throughout. He once found Mumbo in the man’s home base, almost catatonic with how he refused to move from his spot on the floor, murmurs of tridents and shouting lost in his tearful sobs. He tried to comfort him, but he could do nothing as the mustached man was taken from the floor by Grian, red sweater torn in places and eyes as dark as the night. 

“There’s work to be done Mumbo Jumbolio.” His attempt at keeping his voice upbeat had fallen flat and left the ominous sentence echoing in a way that chilled Zedaph to his bones. The war general looked at Zedaph with eyes that screamed distrust, holding Mumbo’s arm in a grip that must have hurt but had done nothing to the unresponsive tall man. “Thanks for taking care of him.”

There was no thanksgiving to be found in his voice. Zedaph thought perhaps it was best that there was nothing for Grian to be thankful for. Any declaration of gratitude would have sounded off when there were land mines to be uncovered in every conversation.

It all led to the final encounter, where each side clashed with a ferocity only befitting of war. ‘A friendly game’, they had called it, the objective to capture the flags clear, yet the ensuing battle was anything but. Screams of frustration and insults that seemed just as potent as arrows were thrown by either side and even as people fell left and right—

_Stressmonster101 was shot by FalseSymmetry_

_Welsknight was slain by ZombieCleo_

_Rendog blew up_

_Joehills went up in flames_

—he paid them no attention until his gaze finally landed on the two people he had not wanted to see in battle. Tango and Impulse, even on opposing sides, still performed duties similar to each other. Launching projectiles from different sources, Zedaph saw how they had targeted each other first and foremost, how the others were nothing but collateral damage to them in their crusade to bring the other down.

They weren’t there when Zedaph had to fight a war of his own, when he had to watch his friends fall in a world where death was still the great and permanent equalizer. They were not there when Zedaph was heralded as a harbinger of death with how he always seemed to find new ways to slay, how he dirtied his hands in red for the sake of a cause he had no choice but to believe in. They had left only a year prior to coming to this world, and he was both jealous and relieved that they never had to do what he had to do. Now, it seemed, they could understand what he went through, and maybe it would have been better if all three could still stand to be in the same room as each for long. The air was always too tense, words always too curt and voices always on the verge of rising. 

He didn’t know who to blame when he watched them all. Could he fault the ever-proud Docm77 who had battled and overcome Iskall in a swordfight? Could he fault the cunning Grian who was new to this world and had already brought grief? Could he blame Python and TFC, the bystanders who did nothing but turn away even as their friends turned against each other? Could he blame—

“Zedaph?” Cub approached him, his labcoat singed at the edges where they must have caught fire. “Python’s asking if you would want to join us for tea.”

“When did tea matter to you, Cub?” He surprised himself with how hollow his voice sounded. “I thought all you and Scar cared about was turning a profit?”

He heard the sharp intake of breath and knew that his hit landed true. “We didn’t want to start this war—”

“Yet you were the one who burned the white flag, who blew up Tango and Mumbo and Wels and framed it on both sides.”

“Is this about killing Tango?”

Zedaph laughed, a cruel sound almost drowned out by the silence. “If this was about killing Tango I wouldn’t be so bitter. Explosions are something he can handle well.” His eyes glaze over as he overlooked the remains of the battlefield once more. “But no one can handle the burden of war, no matter if they win or lose.”

“You sound like you’ve seen an actual war before,” his companion weakly pointed out. Something akin to a grimace flitted onto his face.

“We’ve all seen ‘actual’ war Cub. You played a part in it, and now we have to bear the brunt of what comes next.”

“We’ll be fine, won’t we? We’re hermits, this can’t bring us apart,” Cub murmured, seemingly trying to assure himself more than Zedaph. His dark chuckle gave away how he believed none of the ConVex’s words.

“My dear friend, it already has.”

The sound of his retreating footsteps almost echoed in the open space with how they pressed themselves against Zedaph’s ears, joining the cacophony of shouts and metal striking metal forever playing in the back of his mind. 

He continued to watch the fires burn, and framed by the flames his purple eyes looked almost as cold as the dusk sky.

The hermits didn’t know war before, and now they will know the aftermath.

**Author's Note:**

> Incorporated a small headcanon that, prior to joining Hermitcraft, Team ZIT lived in the same hardcore world server, and Tango and Impulse left Zed behind just before war broke out on it. Hope y'all don't mind.
> 
> As always, thank you for taking the time to read my work! If you like it, maybe consider leaving a kudos and a comment? If you'd want to of course hehe.


End file.
